


power and control

by tsonis



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsonis/pseuds/tsonis
Summary: “Really, though,” the soberness of his voice made Hanzo meet his eyes. “Don’t think I’m gonna make it this time.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> cw includes implied child abuse, alcoholism, gunshot wounds and blood! please heed these before reading.
> 
> i was listening to mother mother - arms tonite and i was thinking well, if this ain't the most mchanzo thing i've heard. i've really been into overwatch a lot! i play on the ps4, and main mercy and d.va, so i had to add at least one of my mains. adding mercy into this was pretty obvious too since it was like, y'know, p bad gunshot wound and she was the doctor of blackwatch (also, i see mccree as being real finicky about his doctors so once he trusts one he'll go to them for anything kinda deal!)
> 
> beta'd by the my hanzo and best pal jamie!! i love them so much and they are the best hanzo/mercy/reaper i know. i love you so much.

Dying, he dimly realised, was nothing like what the old Western movies portrayed it to be. As a boy, with his constant companions being his father’s heavy-handed parenting and old Clint Eastwood movies, he had always thought he’d die in a blaze of glory, fighting back against the men like his father; those who preyed on the innocent and meek.

Life, however, had other plans for him.

Alcoholism had taken his father while he was still a boy, forcing him to search for more lucrative options for work. Ultimately, the Deadlock Gang had found him, luring him in with sickly sweet promises of doing honest work and more money than he’d know what to do with. He’d been hungry; tired of fighting other street kids for scraps of food the rich tossed their way out of a sliver of human decency, or to see the wild, feral fighting that broke out for it.

Deep down, though, he had known the Deadlock Gang was evil. They didn’t kill, per say, unless someone dared to interfere with the smuggling. But McCree knew that every death that carried over the static-y radio was a direct cause of the Deadlock Rebels. 

So when Overwatch had come, soiled his only line of work, but offered him another in exchange for no jail time, he was glad to agree to it. Both for the freedom, and the sense of atonement that would come with it.

The man who recruited him at the time, Morrison, had talked about ‘fighting the good fight’ and protecting people before the horrible shit could even happen. That’s what cowboys do, he’d thought, save people and deal justice out by their own hand.

After the dotted line was signed, and pages dated, filed away, he had been taken under Reyes’ wing. The sight of the man had taken his breath away, as a near spitting image of his father, Reyes’ replaced hard handed teachings and insults with a soft guiding hand and kind words. Of course there was teasing—especially after McCree had called him ‘dad’, he still hasn’t live that down—but it was never mean-natured and one-sided. 

When Blackwatch had disbanded, Reyes betraying them for what he was told ‘more glory’ (he was shocked at the time, his world falling away again for a second time; the Reyes he knew would never do that, would never even _think_ of betraying his family), McCree decided to blend into the rubble that surrounded them, make his own justice by his own terms. Still for profit of course, a man had to eat after all, and he had an insatiable appetite (men, women; anyone willing he could get his hands and mouth on, he collected their moans and sighs like art, tucking them away into his memory for a rainy day).

That’s how he’d found himself in his current predicament, really, his own skewed idea of justice. Winston had practically begged all the old Blackwatch members to come back and band together for the good of everyone. McCree, still licking his wounds from their last ‘let’s all band together and fight for the good of humanity’ attempt, he’d been a little less inclined than the first. 

But Angela fuckin’ Ziegler had lured him back into it, all it took was a bat of her eyes and a soft ‘please’ and he’d caved like the weak man he is (she was and always would be a weak spot for him, they had bonded before Blackwatch imploded, both similar ages and proclivity for partners had them the best of friends).

And from there it was history. Well, a very short history, considering the amount of blood pouring out of him. He groaned, the sound wounded and animal, and his cigar dropped from his lips and burned an unfortunate mark into Hanzo’s hakama.

The man swore, whether for the cigar burn or the blood, he couldn’t tell. “Shut up, cowboy,” he hissed, brows knitted. “I can hear you thinking from here.” 

McCree laughed, the motion bringing more blood to stain his teeth. “Yeah, archer? Whaddya hear?”

Hanzo scowled, increasing the pressure against his wounds. “I will tell you after Mercy gets here.”

“Don’t think that’ll be an option, darlin’,” McCree let out a low whistle. “She’s bleeding somethin’ fierce. Might as well tell me now, your beautiful voice might be the last thing I hear.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what? Honestly?”

“You aren’t going to die, the bullet missed anything vital.”

“How’d ya figure that? You a doctor now?”

“If it had you wouldn’t be still bothering me,” Hanzo deadpanned. 

“Hey, Dr. Shimada,” McCree grinned, ignoring the way Hanzo flinched at the sight of blood staining his mouth. “Does that mean I can dress up and be your sexy nurse?”

“Even if I was a doctor that would be highly unprofessional. But I know the idea of professionalism is hard for one like you to grasp.” 

“And what’s one like me? Devilishly handsome, rugged charm, killer threads, a voice to die for?”

“Annoying, crude, and irresponsible.”

“I’m wounded, Hanzo. Anymore and you might actually kill me.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, babe, love it when y’talk dirty to me. Gets me going,” he purred, the effect of it ruined when it brought racking coughs and more blood. “Really, though,” the soberness of his voice made Hanzo meet his eyes. “Don’t think I’m gonna make it this time.”

“Of course you will, don’t be dramatic.”

Silence followed, it was almost peaceful, save for the way his vision went fuzzy around the edges and his breaths became painful. “Y’wanna know what I was thinking?”

“What?” Hanzo’s face lined with worry. McCree had never seen it do that before. 

“Before, I was thinkin’ ‘bout you, y’know? How the last thing I see’ll be your face. I’m happy it is, though.” McCree raised his hand, the one that was warm flesh, and pressed it against Hanzo’s cheek. “Love you, darlin’.”

The skin against his hand heated, and fear shone in Hanzo’s eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“That I love you?”

“That I’ll be the last thing you see.”

McCree considered this, jaw working. “Think I’m gonna take a nap now. Whaddya say?”

“Absolutely not,” Hanzo’s voice shook. McCree pretended not to notice. “I suggest you stay awake and tell me all about what horrible decisions led you down the path of being a cowboy.”

“Y’know me, darlin’, ‘m never one to follow rules and orders.” McCree blinked sluggishly, eyes struggling to stay open and focused on the face in front of him.

He didn’t know whether his vision was tunneling, or if Hanzo was moving closer to his face. 

“This one you have to follow. What will Angela say if you die?”

“Thank God, probably,” he laughed, the action draining the bits of strength that held his hand to Hanzo’s cheek. As if he sensed this, Hanzo placed his hand over McCree’s and held it in place. 

“Stay with me, Jesse. I know you are tired but there is plenty of time to sleep after you are better.”

“Not with you, though.”

“You never know.”

“That might be the nicest thing y’ever said to me, Shimada.”

“How’s this one? I love you too.”

McCree’s eyes closed, and he smiled, the first genuine one in years. “That’ll do it.”

\--

“Ah, there he is, good morning, Jesse! You had us all very worried,” Angela’s familiar dulcet voice filtered in to his oversensitive ears. He blinked; once, twice, clearing the haziness in his vision. 

“Hey, doc, thanks for patching me up again.” Angela leaned over, offering him a cup with a cutesy little straw in it. He gratefully drank, eyeing the monitor by his bed as he did. “What’s the verdict?”

“The bullet entered your chest on the right side, puncturing a lung, before clearly exiting. Well, as clearly as a bullet could,” she smiled, and McCree readily returned it. “You’ll have to stay in bed for a few days, though, I would even hesitate to say a week, to ensure you fully recover.”

“You know best. Say, do y’know where tall, dark, and brooding went?”

“Mr. Shimada? I believe he was currently accosting one of my nurses for having no updates on your condition.”

“Sounds like him,” McCree nodded. “Would you also happen to know—“ 

Angela shoved his hat into his hands, producing it out of almost thing air, a disapproving look on her features. “As always, it is the first thing you ask for.” She paused, smiling at him as she wandered over to check the chart at the end of his bed. “Though it seems your priorities have changed now.”

McCree reddened, and tugged the familiar, worn brim of his hat down to cover his face. “It ain’t like that, doc.”

“No, of course not. It’s not like your comms were on the entire confession.”

“Son of a b—“

“Ah, Mr. Shimada, what a pleasure to see you!”

The red-faced archer all but barreled into the room, shouts following his sudden appearance. “Doctor Ziegler.” He nodded to her before going over to sit on the edge of McCree’s bed.

She looked between the two of them, before a soft smile tugged at her lips. “I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need anything just press the call button.”

“So,” McCree started, he felt nervous, nerves fraying at the very sight of the man. “You love me, huh?”

“How could you.”

McCree raised a brow, and raised the brim of his hat so Hanzo could see it. “Pardon?”

“How could you,” Hanzo repeated.

“Look, ‘m sorry if you’re uncomfortable about them hearing what we said t’each other. I didn’t know my comms were still on. We can forget about the whole thing if y’want.”

“That’s not it,” Hanzo spit, the cool blankness of his face replaced with a fury, the likes of which he’d never seen before. “How could you make me think you were dying? You just… just faded away right before my eyes and I was powerless to do anything for the second time in my life.”

“Whoa, hold on now. You blaming this on me?”

“You were the fool that got shot.” 

“Right, ‘cause that’s what I woke up and decided to do that day, huh? Let’s go get my ass shot at and have one land.”

“I don’t know what goes through the mind of idiots like yourself, for all I know that could’ve been your thought process.”

“Y’know,” McCree parsed. “Somehow I don’t think you’re mad about me getting shot.” At the look Hanzo shot him, McCree backtracked. “I don’t think that’s the only thing you’re mad about?” 

Hanzo said nothing, his face returning to the usual mask of nonchalance. McCree winced, but took the steadiness of the hand on his shin as a sign to continue.

“You were scared because, uh, you were alone, right? You already lost your brother, and you had me and you didn’t wanna lose me too. You couldn’t control the situation just like you couldn’t control what happened to Genji.”

Hanzo’s face softened and his entire body sagged. The transformation was fascinating, almost as if Hanzo was releasing the strings that held him taut and poised to show him his true self. “I take it back, you are not the idiot I thought you were. At least, less of one.”

McCree made a pained noise, and surged forward, ignoring the sharp pain all over his body in favour of pressing his dry lips against Hanzo’s. He expected Hanzo to be stunned, but relief curled warm and tight in his belly when Hanzo’s hands came up to cradle his face, and lips pressed back with equal fervour.

“’m sorry,” McCree murmured, blinking away the tears that threatened to gather at the edges of his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Hanzo soothed, thumb stroking his stubble-covered cheek. “I know you didn’t want it to happen.”

“I love you, Shimada. I love you so damn much it hurts. I‘m never gonna leave you again, promise.”

Hanzo pressed a kiss to McCree’s lips, smothering his words. “I love you too, Jesse. Even if you smell like horses.”

“Hey now,” McCree pulled back. “I’ll have you know it takes years to cultivate that genuine cowboy smell.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes at that, releasing McCree so he could fix his hat. “I cannot believe my boyfriend is this ridiculous.” 

“That what we are, huh? Boyfriends?” McCree grinned. “Think I like the sound of that.”

\--

“Hey, Angela,” McCree called from where he was plastered against Hanzo’s side. 

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite patient! What is it, Jesse?” 

“I was just thinkin’, if I get a boyfriend after getting shot, what makes you think’ll happen if I get stabbed?”

“I’ll be the one to do it myself,” Hanzo piped up, eyes not rising from the phone in his hand. Angela had to bite back a laugh.

“Babe!” McCree squawked.

“I was merely joking,” Hanzo assured, pressing his lips to the corner of McCree’s mouth. 

The look he shot Angela’s way said otherwise. The doctor sure had her work cut out for her.


End file.
